


The Lithuanian Diet

by DreadPirateRoberts



Category: Hannibal (TV), Santa Clarita Diet
Genre: All the food is people, Cannibalism, Crossover, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 05:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9585632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreadPirateRoberts/pseuds/DreadPirateRoberts
Summary: After a lovely couple move into the area, Joel and Sheila Hammond find out that their neighbours have more in common with them than they first thought.





	

**Author's Note:**

> If you're not watching Santa Clarita Diet on Netflix, you should. It's very Bryan Fuller-esque, with shades of Pushing Daisies and Hannibal. You don't need to have watched that show to enjoy this, but it may help.

** The Lithuanian Diet **

The new neighbours were great.

Not only had they paid in cash for a gorgeous six bedroom, two bathroom Victorian-style townhouse that had been on the market for three years, they renovated the entire building top to toe while keeping in check with the local homeowners’ association’s archaic regulations, and to top of all off, they were celebrating their arrival in the neighbourhood with a big party, and everyone was invited.

“We really need to discuss your increasingly inconvenient habit of clicking ‘yes’ on all invitations when the ‘maybe’ button is right there,” Joel said, his face plastered with a grin that was in no way strained or suspicious to suspecting authorities. Sheila strolled alongside, sipping innocently on her ultra-protein shake with obvious glee.

“There is nothing wrong with being enthusiastic,” she replied, sucking on her bottom lip to ensure every delectable drop of that attempted carjacker jerk made its way to her grumbling stomach.

“That enthusiasm has paid off well for us recently, hasn’t it?”

“Hey, we’re still here and I got all the stains off the couch. Soda water and vinegar are amazing.”

“Yeah, they’re nature’s crime scene helpers.”

Abby had elected to stay at Eric’s house and get bored watching him play something called Starcraft instead of accompanying them to the shindig. Apparently she had “witnessed enough federal offences in their presence” to last her a lifetime and needed some semblance of normalcy with the guy who talked exclusively in metaphors about space aliens and cyber-princesses. All in all, a sensible decision, Joel thought.

“Besides,” Sheila said, having sucked up the remainder of her meal and placed her empty cup in her handbag. “We sold them the house. Us not being there to share in their joy would be suspicious.”

“I miss when not having to look suspicious wasn’t on the top of my daily to-do list.”

“Hey, we all need to make changes as we get older.”

Outside of the house – which really did look fantastic and would do wonders for the surrounding market value – Joel and Sheila stood, watching silhouettes through the expansive windows – bright, airy, great for those long Summer days in California – and worked up the nerve to enter. Or, at least, Sheila waited for Joel to work up the nerve and stop dancing on the spot like a rugged marionette doll.

“Come on,” Sheila sighed. She seldom had patience these days. Who had time to wait around when there was so much to do? Carpe jugulum, as the Romans said. “I wanna see what they did to the kitchen. And don’t stare at the scar again.”

“It was huge!”

She knocked on the door with surprising force and the pair waited. Joel still smiled like a clown with a vendetta, but found he couldn’t stop himself. Laugh or you’ll cry with fear over the state of your life, she told himself.

The mahogany doors opened and they were greeted by, well, a rather fine specimen. Sheila had forgotten just how handsome Mr Daniel Harris was. All sharp cheekbones and silvery hair; lithe in form and eyes so intense she was half-tempted to sell her own house to him, and everything in it. Nobody should be able to pull off two different shades of plaid in one outfit, and yet he stood there looking sumptuous. Must be a European thing, she thought. Joel would look like a trucker going to court in one of those suits.

“Ah, Mr and Mrs Hammond,” Daniel said, extending a hand towards Sheila. “I’m so glad you both could make it tonight.”

“Thank you so much for inviting us,” Sheila replied, back in real estate mode. Joel shook his hand – firmly, and boy was that a tight grip.

“Yeah, thanks for having us,” Joel added.

“The pleasure is all ours,” Daniel insisted. “Please come inside and make yourselves comfortable.”

Inside, their already lofty expectations were shattered. They’d totally transformed the place from a tacky attempt at historical recreation to a bona fide masterpiece. Every wall, each carpet, even the detailing in the corners, inspired awe.

“Jeez, would you look at this place?” Joel whispered while removing his jacket to hang on a golden hook shaped like a stag’s horn. “This must have cost them a fortune.”

“I want this house and everything in it,” Sheila admitted, watching as Daniel mixed with other neighbourhood guests as the perfect host. The finger food being passed around by diligent waiters smelled good. Such a shame she couldn’t eat any.

“Do you mean ‘everyone in it’?” Joel leaned towards her face, eyebrow raised.

“What? They’re a cute couple. You don’t see faces like those around here. That’s real sophistication, not As Seen On TV sophistication.”

“Yes, they’re an attractive and wealthy couple who everyone loves and everyone would notice if they suddenly disappeared after throwing the party of the year. Keep that in mind.”

Sheila rolled her eyes and walked ahead, greeting recognizable faces with the same pained small talk and spending most of the night trying to inconspicuously nosey through the Harris’s fabulous life. They’d been in the neighbourhood for such a short amount of time and already they mad everything around them seem like a pile of crap. That was class.

Meanwhile, Joel indulged in a taste of every morsel available that passed his way. My god, these people could cook. Daniel had informed him, with no small amount of pride, that he had prepared each dish himself, as the culinary arts were his true passion. Whatever the case, Joel had told him, he’d happily offer himself up as guinea pig for any experimenting he wanted to try out.

“I’d love to have you for dinner,” Daniel had said, then left him with a plate of oysters and acorns.

Why couldn’t all their neighbours be this considerate, Joel wondered, instead of constantly asking him to spray his ants or commit casual murder?

Sheila came over and wrapped her hands around his free arm, with the other busy moving food into his mouth as fast as his gag reflex would allow. She watched as Daniel cosied up to his husband, a scruffy haired gentleman with discomfiting eyes and a crooked smile. When she and Joel had been showing the home to the Harrises, Adam Harris had stayed mostly silent, keeping his head down and muttering infrequently, although always politely. They’d tried not to stare at the old lightning mark of scar tissue across the left side of his face, partially obscured by wiry facial hair, but even people who killed on a regular basis could still be shocked by the mundane.

“They’re cute, aren’t they?” She said to Joel.

“Interesting pair,” he replied. “They seem kinda mismatched.”

“Maybe opposites do attract?”

“Maybe he just loves his cooking. I wouldn’t blame him, I mean, this guy is a damn genius. My compliments to Europe or wherever he’s from because this guy can cook!”

Sheila rolled her eyes again, but found herself suddenly intoxicated by a familiar smell. Instinctively, she followed it, ignoring Joel’s querying, and made her way to a beleaguered waiter, holding a tray of miniature slabs of rare meat.

She hungrily grabbed a slice and let it sit in her mouth, although it didn’t take her long to chow down with relish as those inimitable juices filled her throat.

“Oh god,” she said a little too loudly. “That is so fucking good! What is this?”

“That,” Daniel interjected before the bemused waiter could say anything. “Is Wagyu beef tenderloin lightly cooked in extra virgin olive oil and served with a shaving of black truffles. I sourced the beef myself.”

“Oh I bet you did,” Sheila laughed, helping herself to more slices.

“Honey, you’re eating! Actual food!” Joel silently said a prayer to the powers that be for this moment of normalcy, however awkward it was turning out to be as every attendee in the admittedly fabulous dining area turned to watch his wife devour a plate of appetisers without even chewing, like a duck. At least she now matched her ringtone.

“Well, this looks lovely. Wagyu beef, you say?” Joel asked, trying to plug the growing silence.

“It’s not beef,” Sheila said, midway through her seventh piece. “You know what, I can just take the tray off your hands, honey. Thanks, run along.”

The waiter fled the scene, while Daniel’s husband came over to see what was happening. The beard had filled in since their last encounter, but Joel still found himself staring at the place where he knew the scar to be. Hunting accident, apparently.

“Of course it’s beef, honey,” Joel insisted. “My wife’s quite the carnivore.”

“It’s not beef,” she repeated. Her grin contained a few slivers of the appetizer. “Mr Harris, where did you find this specimen because I would dearly like to get my hands on some of this supply.”

“Mrs Hammond, I assure you I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Daniel said, his stillness betraying the lightness in his voice.

“Ha! Oh come on, you think I don’t know what this is?”

“What my wife means is that she’s just so bowled over by this dish that it’s too damn tasty to be just beef, right honey? Right?”

“Dude, seriously, where did you get the guy? Was he a bad guy? Did you do it in self-defence? Was it like that weird German guy who placed an ad and since it was consensual they couldn’t charge him with murder?”

“Sheila, I think we’ve outstayed our welcome and we should leave now before this gets weirder.”

He practically dragged Sheila out of the house, not noticing that she still held the tray in her hand. With the final scraps of food in her mouth, she politely left the silver plate on the doorstep and dutifully followed her husband home.

“What the hell was that?” He asked, trying not to scream – an urge he found himself suppressing hourly at his current rate.

“It’s people!” She exclaimed excitedly. “He’s cooking people!”

“What, what do you… I mean, what people?”

“I don’t know, but I know human meat when I taste it. It may be the only thing I’m sure of in this world, and that ‘Wagyu beef’ was human! I swear to you, they’re cannibals.”

“What?”

“Oh, it’s so nice to know I’m not the only one in the neighbourhood. You know, you never think about the isolating experience your diet can create. I guess this is what vegans feel like, only I’m not constantly freaking reminding people of my diet choices at every moment possible.”

“That would be rude.”

“And we don’t do rude.”

“So.” Joel shook his head and rubbed his face hard with his hands, trying to wake himself up from this everlasting nightmare. “Let me just check that I’ve got this all straight. No crossed wires or anything. The super attractive couple who we sold a house to are cannibals, and by logical extension, murderers?”

“Hey, did they not spend a lot of time checking out that basement? And wasn’t it a huge, murder-friendly basement? I’m just saying.”

“You’re making a very big accusation that could have major implications for us, for the neighbourhood… For the market value.”

“Do you think maybe we could, you know, get in on that?”

“I’m not having this discussion right now.”

“Another great opportunity slipping through our fingers.”

The next day, Joel and Sheila readied themselves for work. Abby made her own way to school – and yes, she groaned, she would stay there all day – and Sheila prepared another smoothie. The ears and fingers could be gristly, but kept her full until at least suppertime. Maybe she could get some black truffles for this one too. Just a little treat for being so good lately.

A knock on the door came, and Joel went to answer. Adam stood there, hands deep in pockets and his gaze southward. Oh crap, Joel thought. Crappy crap crap!

“My husband wants to see you both right now,” he said.

“Ah, hi there to you too!” Joel replied, about 20% into panic mode. “I’m afraid my wife and I have to go to work soon but thanks for the invitation.”

Adam stood silently, obviously not accepting that answer. Stubborn one, this guy.

“Hey,” Sheila said, peering over Joel’s shoulder. “What does he want from us? Is he gonna eat us too?”

“Sheila, would you please go sit in the car or something?”

“No,” Adam said. “He won’t eat you. He wants to make a deal.”

“Then lead the way, Adam.”

“No, no way are we walking into the murder basement!”

Too late, he thought, as Sheila barged past him and followed the sloppily dressed cannibal to her doom. Well, might as well end it like we started it – in a pile of intestines and regret. And maybe a little vomit. That seemed to be the way of things.

At the Harris home, Daniel had laid out a delectable spread for breakfast. Who the hell made a melon peacock before the sun had even risen in the sky? Apparently this dude. Maybe cannibalism did give you an energy boost. Joel would try it if he didn’t treasure his immortal soul and gentle stomach.

“Hello there,” Daniel greeted them, pulling out a chair. “Please sit down and enjoy breakfast.”

“Yes please!”

Sheila barged forward and sat next to Daniel, eyeing up a plate of bacon strips and sliced black pudding. Without waiting to be prompted, she grabbed all meat in sight and started eating. My god, this was so much better than smoothies!

“Joel,” Daniel said. “Feel free to help yourself.”

“Oh, thank you, but I… You know… I’m really not a breakfast man. Can’t stomach food until at least noon. It just goes right through me.”

“The eggs are safe,” Adam said, helping himself to a boiled one and some toast. “So’s the fruit.”

“Safe? What, you mean the… You know, my wife has a weird sense of humour.”

“Mr Hammond, why don’t we just skip the pleasantries and discuss our current predicament?” Daniel said, putting down his fork. “Does that sound good, Mrs Hammond?”

“Oh, please just call me Sheila and I’ll call you Daniel.”

“I’d much prefer Hannibal.”

“What, like Hannibal the…”

It suddenly hit Joel like a shovel to the face and he flailed in his chair in panic.

“Hannibal the cannibal? Hannibal the cannibal! That’s you! The dude that ate all the people! And you!”

He pointed to ‘Adam’.

“You’re the Will Graham guy! The Murder Husbands! Oh my god, I sold a murder basement to the Murder Husbands. I’m an accessory to murder. Again.”

Joel seemed to be the only one shocked by this revelation. Everyone else had returned to their breakfasts. Joel hadn’t even noticed the dogs at everyone’s feet, waiting for scraps. Even the dogs were nonplussed about the whole human eating thing. He swore this town used to be less weird.

“Wait,” he continued. “If you’re supposed to be dead, why are you hiding in Santa Clarita?”

“Because nobody would suspect this pretentious dick would ever live somewhere so tacky,” Will Graham said with a snort.

“Sometimes hiding in plain sight is the best solution,” The man formerly known as Daniel said. “But I think we’re straying from the topic. I understand that you and I have similar tastes, Sheila?”

“Well, kinda. You killed and ate people out of a sense of moral superiority, then displayed their corpses like big pieces of art because you think people are pigs. I kill and eat people because I have to or I die. It’s really self-defence in many ways. Not that I’m judging you or anything.”

“Yeah, we lost moral high-ground quite some time ago,” Joel added bitterly.

“I’ve heard of similar conditions back where I come from,” Hannibal added. “I used to think of it as an old wives tale, nothing more than lore entwined with horror. Apparently even I can be surprised.”

“It’s nice to be a surprise.”

“I’m sorry,” Joel said, cry-laughing. “Why are we here if we’re not just being fattened up for murder?”

“I was thinking that perhaps we could all enter into a mutually beneficial partnership, one where we all get what we want.”

“And what is that?”

“Will and I have certain proclivities, as does Sheila, and we need safe ways to satisfy them that will benefit the entire community. I’m sure as real estate agents, that’s something you could appreciate.”

“It’s true, there are a lot of jackasses in the area who keep blocking up gorgeous houses,” Sheila said, already done with three slices of black pudding, and now the sausages were calling her. Who knew this meat was so versatile? Now she felt like she’d been wasting it on blended mush.

“What are you suggesting,” Joel asked. “Some kind of murder meat ring?”

“Nothing so gauche. I simply suggest that we work together to ensure we are all satisfied.”

“I’m game!” Sheila said. “You guys seem to know what you’re doing and frankly, my husband’s not so good at the calculated murder thing. Oh, give him a spontaneous moment and he can snap into murder but once he thinks about it, boom, he shuts down.”

“I really think we should talk more about this,” Joel reasoned. “This is a big commitment to make, getting into bed with seasoned professional murderers. It’s not like buying a house or anything.”

“Is he always like this?” Will asked.

“Constantly,” Sheila answered. “But it’s been tough for both of us. We just get through it as a family.”

“I think we can all toast to that,” Hannibal said, raising his cup of coffee. “To family, however you make it.”

Sheila raised her empty glass and toasted. Will followed suit, and Joel left them hanging. I guess the deal’s been made, he thought. It would probably be for the best. Who else would be so good at killing and cooking people as a guy whose rhyming cannibal name had been trademarked? He hoped he wouldn’t start doing the body trophy thing in the neighbourhood, though. That would really effect house prices and his poor lawn could only take so much blood removing damage. Still, at least the food was good. He took a small bite of scrambled eggs – creamy, rich, flavoured with a hint of garlic – and stopped again, another realization hitting him.

“Wait a minute,” he said solely. “Have me for dinner? I get it!”


End file.
